


pretty as a picture

by fab_ia



Category: Time Bombs (Podcast)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Established Relationship, Misunderstandings, Multi, honestly they're just happy what else do you want, subtle hints that they're all kind of disasters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29810199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fab_ia/pseuds/fab_ia
Summary: '“You’ve been here a lot,” she says, the other leaning back against her door to eye him as he tries to figure out what she’s trying to hint at. “Overnight.”“I… uh-huh?”“You know he has a boyfriend, don’t you?”'or: five times people really misunderstand their relationship, and one time they don't.
Relationships: Robert "Radio Bob" Hansen/Simon Teller/Mark Midland
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	pretty as a picture

“Look at this one,” Bob says, sticking out his bottom lip as he zooms in on the picture for a moment before letting it go back to normal and turning it around to show the coworker beside him in the break room, a tiny pout on his face. “Look how cute he looks. He’s so _grumpy_ in the morning, it’s adorable.”

The photo - Teller, his hair sticking up in every direction and with pillow creases all across his cheeks, eyes barely open and looking, as Bob had said, grumpy - sits on the screen unmoving for a few long moments as the other man stares at it, his eyes flicking hurriedly from the phone to Midland, his side pressed to Bob’s side, earphones in as he sips at the too-hot coffee he’s holding.

“Um,” he says, slowly, “where did - how - did _you_ take this?”

Bob snickers. “Yeah, the other day,” he says, a sense of pride at the comment and the acknowledgment of his photography skills, or just the fact it’s likely one of the cutest pictures that he’s ever managed to take, period. Midland’s shirt is too big on Teller and he’s leaning one of his hands into the softest part of the plush shark which had been there much longer than either he or Bob had. 

Beside him, Midland makes a quiet noise, using the excuse of listening to music as a reason not to engage with the conversation. Their coworker looks pained.

“I…” he says, and pulls a face again. “I thought that you and Midland…”

_That’s fair,_ Bob thinks, because Teller does tend to whine whenever Bob turns the camera on him when he isn’t expecting it or prepared for it - most of the time - and it means that most of the photos he has are either just of him, just of Midland, or the two of them, maybe with some part of Teller in the background. A hand, a foot, the top of his head.

This one, though - Midland had been away, visiting his mom for the weekend, and he’d said goodbye with a kiss pressed to each of their foreheads and a whispered request into Bob’s ear for him to send as many pictures of Teller as he could get away with, to give him more proof of his relationship.

(“Gloating material,” he’d mumbled, taking a deep breath of the perfume Bob had put on. “I’ll make sure everyone knows I managed to land the most attractive boyfriends in the city.”

“You do that,” Bob said.

“I absolutely will.”)

“He was visiting his mom for the weekend,” Bob says, looking back down at the screen and smiling, completely missing the way his coworker’s expression shifts into one of horror. “Teller and I took advantage of having the time - and the apartment - to ourselves.”

“Right,” the coworker says - Bob doesn’t like to admit he can’t remember his name at all, so offers him a cheerful smile. “That’s - I - need to go.”

“See you around,” Bob says, content, and turns his face to press a kiss to the top of Midland’s head.

* * *

The day Bob’s Twitter follower count had ticked over to the milestone, Teller had been the one to notice, holding his phone up in his face before leaning in for a kiss while Midland made a suitably disgusted noise at the two of them before he got one too.

“Congratulations,” Teller mumbled with his face buried in the joint of his shoulder, his words hot and low against the bare skin there, and Bob grinned to himself and allowed the two of them to pull him down into a lazy embrace.

It means that most of what he says on the platform gets at least a little attention and a good amount of people commenting on pictures and talking about how pretty he is - which he _knows,_ but it’s always nice to hear it from people he isn’t already dating and don’t have the obligation to say it without running the risk of earning his extremely effective ‘very upset and hurt’ face turned on them.

**babe-io** **  
**_@radiobob3rt_ _  
_ bf said i was being too cute for him bc i said i would kiss all of his freckles… like sorry you don’t appreciate me being v cute and romantic ://  
_06/21/2019_ _49 retweets_ _2556 likes_

“I wish you’d stop telling people on Twitter that I’m whiny,” Teller whines, wrapping his arms around Bob’s neck and digging his chin into his shoulder in an attempt to be even more irritating than he has any need to be. “I’m not whiny and I _do_ appreciate it… you know I do.”

He does, but Bob had decided to be merciful and not detail how red he’d gone at the whole idea, or how Midland had immediately laughed so hard he’d had to take a moment to remind himself to breathe when he’d seen Teller’s ears go crimson within seconds of Bob finishing his sentence. _Like a very cute tomato,_ he’d considered saying, but settled for poking him in the center of his forehead instead and earning a noise that was either scandalized or of suffering. Teller’s yet to notice that his contact name in Bob’s phone has been changed to include a tomato after it, which is likely to be the case for months more. 

“I love you,” he says instead of any of that, listening to Teller groan and cling to him a little tighter. 

**babe-io** **  
**_@radiobob3rt_ _  
_ look at this guy i love him sm [image]  
_06/30/2019_ _32 retweets_ _4889 likes_

Midland, Bob’s convinced, has the uncanny skill to look good in any photo that’s taken of him - his currently-cited source is the one he’s just posted, where his face is screwed up a little in concentration as he valiantly attempts to butter a slice of toast one-handed, the other holding a cup proudly declaring its contents to be ‘probably vodka’, never mind that it’s not been used for that purpose once and is instead filled with black coffee. He’s not sure exactly why half of the replies are just variations on ‘freckles?’ though. 

The one he’s seeing the most are along the lines of ‘uh where are his freckles’ which he doesn’t entirely get - they’re _there,_ you’d just need to look harder for them or have a higher-resolution photo than Twitter can handle or have one that shows him with far fewer clothes on, but there’s no real reason for the obsession with whether Midland has freckles or not. Is it not enough to post a picture of him being cute as hell in the kitchen?

“Could’ve let me brush my hair,” Midland says when he sees the tweet, his head resting in Bob’s lap while Teller leans against his knees and pretends he isn’t taking care not to get his hair in Midland’s face, and the mystery of the replies is suddenly irrelevant.

* * *

While he was married - and during the string of failed relationships and almost-relationships he’d had just after - Teller had never considered himself to be someone desperate for physical contact and would adamantly deny the implication he could be _clingy_ until he was blue in the face. 

That has, perhaps, changed. 

“Midland,” he says, leaning over to rest his chin on his head, an action which Midland barely acknowledges outside of a small exhale. “You’re so - you’re so _cute,_ Midland.”

“Mhm,” Midland says. His face is flushed, Teller notes, and he bites down a grin as he presses a kiss to his hair. “Anything I can help you with, boss?”

“Just need to be your lovely self.”

The thing is, he’s realized since getting together with the two of them, the thing is that being around them - _touching_ them - is so nice he never really wants to stop, which he’s found is not exactly helpful when it comes to getting things done at work. He can only purloin one of their hands to hold for so long, since all three of them actually have a job to do, but it means that they sacrifice their personal space after hours, when he can content himself with leaning against them or laying his head in one of their laps. _Lapcat,_ Midland says, while Bob snorts and tells him he’s _like an overgrown blanket,_ neither of which Teller can honestly take offense to. 

“You are the light of my life,” he says.

“Don’t you have someone else to harass?”

“Nope.”

“Could you _find_ someone else to -“

“No.”

It’s not a real complaint - there’s no real venom or irritation in it, just the usual exasperation and undertone of fondness that Midland doesn’t always like to admit to. If he really wanted Teller to move, he’d just shove him off. 

“Okay,” he murmurs a few moments later, “I do actually need to get on with this, though.”

“I know, I know,” Teller says, “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Of course you will,” Midland says, smiling just a little - he’s trying _not_ to, it’s obvious, but he can’t stop the corner of his lip from curling up just a little while Teller tries to pull his best _I love you please say you’ll see me later_ face at him. 

He winks at him as he leaves because it always makes Midland’s face screw up like he’s not sure whether to gasp, laugh, or make a noise that would probably not be appropriate in the workplace - Teller distantly remembers winking is something he usually only does when he’s trying to get one of his boyfriends riled up and doesn’t feel guilty about it for a second. 

As he leaves, his own shift scheduled to finish an hour and a half before Midland’s does on a day when they aren’t out in the field, there are low murmurs to his left that he strains to catch. 

“Shameless,” someone says. 

“Acting like _that_ in public?”

_Homophobia’s alive and well, I see,_ Teller thinks, and hopes his cheeks aren’t as pink with the sudden hurt from their words as it feels like they are. 

(“He’d break his boyfriend’s heart if they saw him acting like that with someone else,” he doesn’t hear them say, clicking their tongues in disapproval at the lack of loyalty Midland’s showing in his relationship with Bob.)

* * *

While Teller’s pulling his shirt on again afterward, having found it crumpled in a bundle on the floor where he’d thrown it in their haste to get into the room and into bed, Midland looks at him from where his chin is hooked over Bob’s shoulder and offers him a small grin, even though his eyes are mostly closed in content exhaustion. 

“I love you,” he murmurs, and Bob runs a hand through his hair, already tangled and more than a little messy. “You’re the _best_ for doing this.”

“Midnight snack,” Teller says, grinning at him. “Fuck yeah, midnight noodles.”

Bob blows Teller a kiss as he shuts the bedroom door on his way out, grabbing the first sweater he sees draped over the back of the couch and definitely _not_ burying his nose in it for a moment and breathing in the slight smell of perfume that’s still lingering in the fabric. 

The store he’s going to is just under a ten-minute walk away and he gets there almost without thinking, finding himself staring at the shelves in silence, only having an internal conversation with himself before he notices his coworker looking at him out of the corner of his eye in a way he might think is surreptitious.

“Uh, hey,” Teller says, holding a hand up.

“Hey,” he says.

“Have a good day?”

“Oh - yeah! Yeah. I wanted to say, I - I saw Hansen’s picture with you on Twitter earlier on,” Wells says, leaning a little too much into Teller’s space to be entirely comfortable, and all he can think is _fuck, I just wanted to buy some ramen._

Discovering Wells lived nearby enough to wind up at the same store as him at ten-thirty on a Wednesday night wasn’t something he’d planned for, wearing a borrowed sweater and bleach-stained jeans, a few marks barely covered by the collar and every part of him desperate to just go home and collapse into bed. In all honesty, Teller hadn’t ever expected to run into a coworker outside of work like this, much less have them come up to him and actively engage in any sort of conversation.

“Oh, right,” Teller says, frowning at a pair of packets - one looks like the brand Midland usually gets and the other a little more like one _he_ would buy, but he can’t find the one Bob had mentioned. If he’s honest, he doesn’t even really know which picture Wells is talking about, given how rarely he actually checks the app, giving up on any semblance of an online presence years ago. “Say, can you see -”

“It looked kinda _romantic,”_ Wells continues, cutting off Teller going to ask if he can see the brand of kimchi noodles Bob had asked for and ignoring the very unsubtle sigh. “Which is… weird.”

“Uh-huh,” Teller says, balancing two packets on one arm. 

Part of him hopes it’s obvious just how little he wants to engage in the conversation, halfway sure that he looks about as tired as he feels because, again, his bed is calling and he would really love to be _in_ it at that moment with Midland and Bob curled up beside him. That, he thinks, sounds like the best way to spend the rest of his evening.

“I mean,” Wells says, “you’re married and he’s… a guy…”

“Oh, well,” Teller says as he stifles a yawn, “I didn’t marry _him.”_

Wells - blinks, and clears his throat before taking a step back and offering him a strained smile. “Right! Right, well. I guess not. That makes - sense.”

“Mmhm,” Teller sighs. “Say, have you seen these - oh.”

Wells is already gone when he turns around to look at him again and, with a sigh, Teller goes back to his futile search for Bob’s noodles.

* * *

“You’ve been visiting an awful lot, recently,” one of Bob’s neighbors says, the judgment in her voice obvious even to Midland after one of the more stressful shifts at work, having reached Bob’s apartment before he or Teller had made it back - one going to grab coffees and some kind of baked good for them, the other to pick up clothes from his own place so he wouldn’t have to steal from someone else. Midland blinks at the closed-but-unlocked door for a few seconds to try and process what she’d said before he turns around. 

“Huh?” he says, wincing a little when he realizes how rude that must seem only after it’s left his mouth. “Sorry, I - excuse me?”

She gives him a look he recognizes from his mother, the one that means _you heard exactly what I said, so stop pretending you didn’t right this second, Mark._ It’s a little different in that he’s fairly sure neither of the women looking at him suspiciously knows his name at all - it isn’t as though he goes around with a shirt that proclaims ‘my name is Mark’ across the chest.

“You’ve been here a lot,” she says, the other leaning back against her door to eye him as he tries to figure out what she’s trying to hint at. “Overnight.”

“I… uh-huh?”

“You know he has a boyfriend, don’t you?”

“I - yes? Yes, I know that.”

“Hm,” she says, clearly doubtful, and the two turn on their heels to go back into their own apartments. It leaves Midland a little dazed, a lot confused, and ready to collapse into the couch as soon as he gets inside - which he does, the cushions a welcome softness underneath him as he stares straight ahead at the wall and just thinks, _what the fuck was all that about?_

Bob’s first instinct upon getting back - after setting down the coffees and bag with the pastries - is to drop down into his lap and press a kiss to his forehead, earning its usual whine from Teller at the fact he isn’t the one getting paid any attention right that second. Over Bob’s shoulder and around his hair, Midland offers him a grin that he’s quick to return, any protest all in jest as his eyes soften just a little while he looks at the two of them. His bag sits by the door, already halfway to falling over, and Midland figures he’s supposed to pretend he can’t see through the busted zipper that the shirt in there was originally _his._

“What a sight,” Teller says, his voice low as he walks over to where Bob’s set the coffees down and eyes them until he finds his. It’s without all the sugar and combination of ingredients that would probably kill anyone drinking it besides Bob and it’s not the black-two-sugars Midland prefers, usually some kind of latte, and he takes a slow drink of it as he watches Bob pressing another kiss to Midland’s jaw. 

“Oh,” Midland says, a noise in the hall catching his attention, “Bob, your neighbors across the hall are _really_ nosy.”

“They are?” Bob blinks, surprised. He thinks for a second before he shakes his head. “I wouldn’t know, I don’t think I’ve ever actually spoken to them.”

“Huh,” Midland says, and forgets about it entirely when he turns his face to find Teller pretending to feed him a torn-off bite of a croissant.

* * *

The two of them tagging along on his next visit to his mom hadn’t been planned at all and had really just been a coincidence they all had the same four days off. If he’s honest, Midland had expected them both to say ‘no’ as soon as he asked and was half-braced to deal with jokes about how he’s close with his mother and the two of them aren’t but, after quick glances at their calendars, they’d both agreed happily and without any obvious second thoughts. It’s a nice surprise - because it really _does_ come as a surprise - and they don’t make a joke about it at all.

“Why would we?” Teller says when he mentions it, looking a little put out at the implication he _would._ “I’m not gonna make fun of you because you talk to your family, Jesus.”

“I was just worried,” Midland says. Bob squeezes his hand tightly for a second in an attempt at comfort that honestly works quite well, earning a smile and then Midland’s weight resting against his shoulder. “If you did, I know you wouldn’t have meant it to be cruel.”

“We wouldn’t,” Bob says, his voice slightly muffled by Midland’s hair pressing against his mouth. “It’s different joking about your own family than it is someone else’s.”

“I love you,” Midland says quietly, and it makes his whole chest feel warm as he flushes a little as he hears it in his own voice. It’s still a little strange to say the words - still novel, still a little wrong in his mouth, not something he ever really imagined saying to someone and least of all anyone like the two of them. He’s happy, though. He’s _so_ happy. 

The twin smiles he earns from it are soft, as though it’s the only possible reaction to Midland saying that he loves them - almost asking _what did you expect_ as Teller curls against his side and Bob leans over to rest a hand flat open on his chest. The hotel room they’ve rented for the night is too warm compared to what they’ve grown used to - the windows in Bob’s apartment not quite sealed properly around the edges, not enough to stop the draft - but Midland hadn’t wanted to impose on his mother at eleven at night. There’s a simple solution to avoid being too warm, but the idea of pulling away from either of them seems like the end of the world to Midland at that moment and he can’t bear the thought of adjusting their position.

He hasn’t been entirely honest with his mom, the guilt of which sits in the center of his chest like a lead weight as he looks into his own eyes the next morning, his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. It isn’t as though he believes she’s going to _say_ anything, it’s just - well - he knows that the three of them don’t make as much sense as they could, and that three people dating isn’t exactly the _norm._

“These are my coworkers,” he says when she opens the door, “Simon and Bob.”

She hums, arms folded over her chest for a moment before she laughs and pulls all three of them into a hug, a little awkward considering the three of them having the height advantage they do.

“Coworkers,” she says, amused. “It’s nice to meet my son’s boyfriends.”

“You - know?”

“Mark,” she says, while Teller and Bob’s gazes flick between them both, “you aren’t good at hiding the fact you’re in love.”

Midland coughs and pulls away, feeling as sheepish as he likely looks while she chuckles, eyeing both Teller and Bob before her smile gets even wider.

“Well, come in,” she says, taking a step away from the door, “as soon as Mark told me you were coming, I got the old photo albums down. I’ve been ready for this for months.”

“Thank you,” Midland says later, pulling her into the kitchen while Teller does his best impression of someone not laughing hysterically at a baby picture of his boyfriend with ice cream in his hair while Bob rubs his back and tries to remind him how to breathe. “For - accepting this. Thanks.”

After looking at him for a moment, his mom laughs. “So long as you’re happy,” she says, “I don’t give a damn who you’re dating. Just tell Simon to stop trying to get himself blown up.”

**Author's Note:**

> written for a request from @truecryptid on twitter!
> 
> title from 'new york's in love' by david bowie, from the time:bombs playlist on spotify


End file.
